Chapter 25
GRIFFIN
“What an exhausting few days,” I say, sliding into bed next to Selena. She is already nestled in, looking gorgeous, nude, and freshly showered.
“I watched you today,” I say. “With the boys. With your sister. With Scarlett. And I realized something.”
She looks at me, unsure.
“You light up around chaos,” I tell her. “You make it make sense. Maybe I don’t get it yet, but I want to try. For you. For our baby. For us.”
Tears well in her eyes. I know she’s been waiting to hear this.
“It was a relatively pain-free experience for me,” I admit. “I think we should hold off on having three rowdy sons, but one... might be manageable.” I touch her face and kiss her lips.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “You’re better at this than you think.”
“At what?” I kiss the top of her head.
“At being nice.”
She nestles in and falls asleep. While neither of us has the energy for sex, somehow this warm, glowing quiet feels better.
The next day, we attend the Children's Future Foundation Gala. It’s a non-profit that helps underprivileged children attend university. It also provides legal support for incarcerated parents—something I think Selena will appreciate, given her interest in defense law.
“You look unbelievable,” I tell her as she turns away from the mirror.
She is wearing a crystal-covered dress that looks like liquid glass. It’s solid but gives the illusion of being sheer. Her hair is swept up into an intricate twist with crystal butterflies. I had a glam squad come to the house just so she didn't have to travel in case her stomach flared up.
“I have to say, I feel like a princess. A naughty princess, but royalty all the same.” She’s actually blushing.
“You can’t see anything, but I sure wish you could. But then I’d have to murder people left and right for looking at my wife.” I scoop her into my arms and kiss her neck.
We didn’t have sex last night, but I made up for it this morning.
“I don’t even know if I want you looking at your wife right now,” she teases. “This morning was a little insane. But I liked it.” Her cheeks flush redder.
“Bet you’ve never been railed like that either.” I smooth my hand over her ass.
“I feel like it was more of a turbo jet, but yes, you got your workout in,” she giggles.
“Ready to go?”
“Ready,” she says, looking like a movie star.
The event is a glittering, frost-toned dream. Crystal chandeliers drip like icicles under the vaulted ceilings of the Met. The theme is Ice Castles, and the crowd has dressed accordingly.
It’s one of the most prestigious charity galas in the city. Tonight, it’s also my battleground. This is where I introduce Selena as my wife and network for the final nail in David Mason Enterprises’ coffin. Sadly, Carl Besheir is also here. He wants to lock me in to legitimize his shady deals.
Selena stands at the edge of the red carpet. She is draped in a midnight-blue silk wrap that looks like poured ink. The necklace around her throat sparkles with enough diamonds to blind a small country.
“You’re staring,” she teases gently.
“That’s because you look like you just walked out of a dream.”
Her cheeks warm as the cameras begin to click.
I take her arm and we step into the courtyard. A chirpy, platinum-blonde woman in an iridescent feathered minidress practically sprints toward us, phone camera rolling.
“Griffin Calloway! The man, the myth, the perpetually eligible bachelor. Wait...” Her eyes land on Selena’s massive ring. “Who. Is. This?”
“This is my wife,” I say, voice firm. “Selena Calloway.”
Socially Sorell, the internet sensation who terrorizes high society, blinks. “Wife? Oh my God. That’s wild. Because I swear I saw you here last month with—what’s her name—the art dealer from Prague?”
Selena’s bicep tightens under my hand. Her elegant smile falters. The camera stays on her face just long enough to catch the crack in her composure.
“That was a client dinner. And a moot point because Tereza Novak is engaged to the Crown Prince of Lichtenstein.” I raise my chin, giving her a cold stare.
“Oh, right,” Sorell says, undeterred. “Totally moot.” She turns to her audience. “Well, internet, Griffin Calloway is married! Say hello to Mrs. Calloway!”
The phone is in Selena’s face. She smiles, but I see the panic in her eyes.
“Okay, you’ve had your two minutes, Sorell. Leave us alone.” I steer Selena away.
“Most people like the exposure,” Sorell gripes to our backs.
“I don’t,” I snap.
I let the incident pass and slip into work mode. I spot David Mason across the room. I have to leave Selena for a bit to finalize the deal.
“I need to have a conversation. Why don’t you find our table? I’ll join you in a minute,” I say.
Beckett told me she needs small, frequent meals. I don’t want her to be alone, but I don’t want her to hear the viper I’m about to become.
“Okay,” she says softly.
“The bar has ginger ale. Or mint tea. I had them stock it for you. Either one is good for your tummy.” I gently touch her stomach as she removes her wrap. For one second, I realize my child—a fraction of me—is under my palm.
“Thank you, Griffin,” she says graciously.
As she walks toward the table, I see a woman intercept her. My head whips around.
Melody Talbot.
Fuck.
Melody and I had a... rough, consensual BDSM relationship last year. She’s the CEO of a private adoption agency and my longest relationship to date.
Fuck.
I can hear Melody’s voice carry. “So my phone just flared with a notification that Socially Sorell had big news. It turns out you’re Griffin Calloway’s wife?”
Fuck fuck fuck.
She looks at Selena’s necklace. “Is he using diamond handcuffs, too?”
I start to move toward them, but David spots me.
“Son,” David says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “I need to have a talk with you.”
I’m torn. I’m about to sprint to Selena, but David pulls me toward a quieter gallery.
I glance back one last time. Selena is smiling tightly.
“Excuse me?” Selena asks.
“You’re wearing Dior, right? That’s his favorite. He bought me three. Enjoy him while it lasts; Griffin’s allergic to permanence. I recommend Neosporin and Arnica gel. He gets carried away. But I’m sure you already know that.”
I grit my teeth and turn to David. I have to close this deal now so I can get back to her.
David Mason is nearly ninety years old. He sits heavily at a small table.
“I hear you’re about to make partner,” he wheezes. “My children have no real interest in the firm. This is a different era. You and I are old school; we litigated to win. They want innovation. They want to save the world. I tell them the world is fucked.”
He coughs, thick and sickly. The guy isn’t long for this world.
“My being a managing partner will be a benefit to your company,” I remind him.
“But not to my grandchildren. They want to license wind patents and get drug dealers into rehab. Fucking idealists.”
I love how salty he is. It’s what piqued my interest in the first place.
“I might be able to sweeten my offer.” Actually, I can double it. I low-balled him.
“I don’t need more money. I need a promise that you aren’t going to ruin my family’s legacy.”
I can’t make that promise. So I dance around lies until his worries are alleviated, hoping he’ll be too tired to care.
When I finally make it to our assigned table, Selena isn’t there.
I check the bathroom area. Nothing.
I take a deep breath and pray she isn’t sick. I look at my phone. I have a missed text from her and a notification that Socially Sorell has posted breaking news about me.
Fucking cunt.
I read Selena’s message first.
Griffin. I’m not feeling well. I called your car service, and I’m having a driver take me home. Don’t worry, I’m going to be in bed with Netflix and a ginger ale. Stay as long as you need. I’m fine. — Sel.
I immediately text back.
Hey, I’ll get out of here as soon as I can. I know something much better than ginger ale. I...
I’m about to type I love you. It just feels right. But I can’t.
I’m proud of you. You were the talk of the night.
I open TikTok to check the damage.
Well, it turns out that perpetual bachelor Griffin Calloway has finally tied the knot.
While Mrs. Calloway isn’t fresh out of high school like most of Griffin’s catches, her bachelor’s degree in Shibari is probably hot off the press.
Dazzling in Dior, Selena Calloway enchanted despite a non-existent personality that left the stage wide open for the woman’s impeccable style.
I wonder how this country-fried Barbie managed to nab one of Manhattan’s finest. Hashtag, waiting for the sequel to this cliffhanger.
Now I’m feeling sick.
If Selena sees this...
I press the number for my car service.
This fucking night could not get worse.